


Here Beside Me

by eggsbenni221



Series: The Song in My Heart [4]
Category: Bridget Jones (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Songfic, Surprises, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-05 16:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsbenni221/pseuds/eggsbenni221
Summary: The problem with Mark Darcy is that sometimes he just doesn't know when to follow his own heart. Lucky for him, Bridget does. (Any typos and formatting errors are mine; feel free to point them out).





	Here Beside Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 4 in a series of short works inspired by a playlist of songs for Mark and Bridget that I put together a few years ago. These follow no specific timeline and aren't set in any one universe. Inspiration for this one comes from "Next Plane Out" by Celine Dion and "Open Arms" by Journey.

> Talking on the phone but that don’t make it any better.  
>  Nothing’s gonna ease this pain  
>  Until I’m in his arms again.  
>  Runnin’ down the stairs there’s a taxi that’s waiting for me.  
>  Loneliness, I’m gonna leave you far behind.- Celine Dion, “Next Plane Out” 

> Living without you  
>  Living alone  
>  This empty house seems so cold.  
>  Wanting to hold you  
>  Wanting you near  
>  How much I wanted you home.- Journey, “Open arms” 

#### Wednesday

As much as Mark Darcy loved his work, he sometimes marveled at the irony of the fact that a roomful of lawyers well-versed in Human Rights law could, in less than five minutes, make a meeting feel like something akin to medieval torture. Of course, victims of human rights violation didn’t typically leave the torture chamber to return to a luxurious suite in a Paris hotel—a consolation prize that Mark admitted he shouldn’t overlook. As he slung his suit jacket over a chair in his suite and slumped on the king-sized bed, he felt a twinge of discontent that had little to do with his exhaustion and everything to do with the fact that the space beside him on the bed was unoccupied. Mark had toyed with the idea of asking Bridget to accompany him to his conference, but a week in Paris, he reasoned, most of which he’d be spending with colleagues, seemed hardly to inspire the whirlwind of Passione that one of the most romantic cities in the world traditionally evoked. The conference had been in Mark’s schedule for months—even before he and Bridget had begun seeing each other, and to his relief, despite the fact that he’d had to cancel several dates in recent weeks, she’d responded with understanding—perhaps a bit too much understanding, he realized now. She appreciated that his work was important—appreciated that in his profession, “something’s come up” more often than not was a euphemism for “We’re in the middle of negotiating a stay of execution, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel dinner tonight, love.” Nonetheless, if he was going to commit to this relationship, Bridget deserved more time and attention than he’d been giving her. He pictured her now—her wide, laughing eyes; the smile that lit her entire face when she looked at him; how she leapt into his arms with joyful abandon whenever something excited her. To say that Bridget wore her heart on her sleeve was a gross understatement; she held it out to those she loved on an open palm in a gesture that seemed all the more innocent for its boldness, and Mark wouldn’t, couldn’t take it unless he could prove himself worthy of its keep. 

He wondered, now, staring up at the sealing, whether she might already have begun slowly to withdraw the trust she’d placed in him. Their only conversation during his trip had consisted of a string of texts, the majority of which had been exchanged three days earlier when Mark had sent her a hurried message before silencing his mobile. 

> 'I’m going in. if you don’t hear from me within the next eight hours, assume I’ve died of boredom.'

Her response had been swift and classically Bridget.

> 'Just as well we had that farewell shag, then.'

This was quickly followed by a second message.

> ‘Minor crisis. Have just possibly threatened to tear off boss’s head and eat it for making crudely inappropriate comment about it being bloody agony when all the women in the office are “on the rag.” If Richard Finch is found decapitated tomorrow, could my threat be interpreted as a statement of intent? Please advise.’
> 
> Mark: 'That all depends. If you made the statement while hungover, you might be able to plead diminished responsibility, but on-balance, I’d advise not threatening to commit murder in front of witnesses.' 

He’d felt a stab of disappointment when checking his phone during a lunch break to find no further communication from his girlfriend. He sent another quick text on route back to his hotel to ask if she’d be in that night, thinking he’d give her a ring, but she hadn’t replied. After a quick drink at the bar with a few colleagues from the States whom he hadn’t seen in several years, he’d fallen into a dreamless sleep, waking again a little after midnight to squint at a brief message 

from Bridget.

> ‘Sorry I missed you. Met the girls in 192. Talk tomorrow? Xx.’ 

The next two days had yielded similar results. He was glad, Mark told himself, that Bridget was maintaining a vibrant social life—glad that his own struggle to maintain a life/work balance clearly wasn’t hindering her ability to do so. It eased his guilt somewhat to know that Bridget hadn’t wound herself around him and delicately but inextricably linked every thread of their lives. It was the sort of spider-like maneuver he might have expected of Natasha, but Bridget didn’t seem to possess that instinct to reel him in. He knew how much she valued her friends and her promise not to turn into what she termed a “smug going out with someone”. He’d assumed that girls nights would naturally be in full swing during his absence; he’d even resigned himself to the notion that they’d likely dissect every syllable he’d recently uttered under Sharon’s high-powered, feminist magnifying lens. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that with each succinct text and each deferred phone call, Bridget was stepping back—placing greater and greater distance between them to test just how far their connection could stretch before it snapped. 

‘For Christ’s sake, Darcy,’ he mentally chided himself, ‘stop this. You want to prove yourself? Make a goddamn effort.’ 

Sitting up, he reached for his mobile on the bedside table and had got halfway through typing out a text to Bridget when, with a growl of frustration, he erased the message and dialed her number. Instinctively, he smiled to himself in anticipation of hearing her voice; crossing his legs, he settled back on the bed and waited for the line to connect. The next moment, his shoulders slumped in disappointment as her answerphone clicked on. Closing his eyes, he took a slow, calming breath before leaving a message.

“Bridget, it’s Mark. I’m sorry we keep missing each other. I’m just having a quiet night in, so I thought I’d take a chance and give you a ring. You’re probably out with Jude and Sharon. I hope you’re having a nice time. Be safe. I’ll ring you again tomorrow.” He paused, feeling the weight of the words on the tip of his tongue. They lingered there for a moment before dissolving. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and tried again. 

“I miss you.” Not precisely what he’d wanted to say, but close enough, three syllables that filled the void between them, but for how long, he didn’t know. 

#### Thursday

Mark woke with a tight, pinching sensation between his shoulderblades that heralded the onset of a headache. Wincing and rolling to his side, he reached automatically for his mobile, and the twinge creeping its way up the back of his neck was joined by a hard knot in the pit of his stomach as he realized that Bridget had neither returned his call from the previous night nor sent a text to acknowledge that she’d even received his message. Suddenly he desired nothing more than to burrow beneath the covers again and remain hidden for approximately the next century; instead, he showered, dressed, and went about his morning like a man sleepwalking, hardly noticing when he spoke or was spoken to. The fact that he nearly slept through an hour-long talk on the traumatic effects of waterboarding offered perhaps the greatest proof of the severity of his exhaustion and distraction. 

During a short mid-day break, Mark decided to try ringing Bridget again, though whether that would soothe his nerves or stretch them to the breaking point remained to be seen. He had, after all, indicated in his message the night before that he’d ring her again, and perhaps, being unaware of his schedule, she’d considerately left it to him to decide when he could conveniently talk. Even as he dialed, however, he knew he was clutching desperately at the unraveling threads of his relationship. The call connected; rang; Mark’s nerves tingled as he listened intently for Bridget’s voice. He heard a click as the line was answered, held his breath, and the next instant felt grateful for the support of the wall against which he lent as his legs went numb. 

“Darce, fancy hearing from you. It’s been a while, but I suppose you’re still angry with me.” for a moment, Mark felt winded, as if an iron fist had slammed into his stomach. He heard the voice as a strange echo, as if through a tunnel. 

“Where’s Bridget,” he demanded finally. 

“She’s just stepped out. Don’t worry. Shall I tell her you rang?” 

“cleaver,” said Mark, “what the bloody Hell are you doing with Bridget’s phone?” Daniel laughed, and Mark’s hand reflexively clenched at the taunt of his once-best friend’s amusement at his expense. 

“I’ve had a bit of a career change; work in television now. I’ve got my own show, actually—‘The Smooth Guide’. I travel round the world, highlight popular destinations, sample the local flavor. . . if you catch my meaning. Didn’t Bridge tell you?” Mark wanted to speak, but the iron fist delivered another blow, preventing him from drawing breath. “Apparently not,” Daniel concluded. “Well, we’re working together again, Bridget and me, I mean.” 

Mark's words felt weighed down with led, but at last, he willed himself to speak. “I’m not—I don’t understand. When you say ‘working together’--” 

“Well, Darce, in most English-speaking countries, when people work together, they generally pursue similar professions, occupy the same premises, attend the same boring meetings, and drink the same bad coffee. The occasional after-work shag can be thrown in to boost morale and build collaborative relationships, but it’s strictly optional.” 

Mark endeavored to deliver his next words in a low, menacing growl, though the tremor in his voice might have diminished the effect. “Cleaver, if you’re messing Bridget around again, if you dare do anything to hurt her, I swear to you truthfully--” 

“Now, hang on a sec, Darce. Just who do you think you’re talking to? Bridget’s a big girl; she can look after herself, and I think she’s capable of working out what she wants on her own.” 

“And what makes you think she wants you?” Mark challenged. 

“I suppose I could ask you the same question. Tell me, how many dates have you canceled recently?” 

“that’s none of your business.” 

“Struck a nerve, have I?" The truth in Daniel's words stung Mark more than the teasing lilt in his tone. "Look, you're right. It probably is none of my business, but if I were you, I’d spend less time worrying about how others are treating Bridget and more time worrying about how you’re treating her.” 

“That’s rich, coming from you. Remind me again how Bridget discovered you with another woman when you were supposed to be working?” 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, you’re not really going to fling that in my face now. Can’t a man make one mistake?” 

“It was one rather unforgivable mistake,” replied Mark, “and not your first in that department, but I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of your previous offenses.” 

Daniel sighed. “maybe not, but the mistake I made with Bridget is probably the one I regret most. I admit I was careless in the way I handled her heart, but you know, Darce, neglect does its own damage. Just keep that in mind.” Long after Mark ended the call, those words echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t help wondering, with a sinking feeling in his own heart, whether Daniel might be right. 

#### Friday 

Mark rose early after another restless night. He’d lain awake hoping in vane to hear from Bridget, though he had to acknowledge a flicker of relief mingled with the regret. His at first vague suspicions that their relationship was at an end had begun to solidify into certainty, and the only question that remained was which of the would have the courage to do the deed. The blame, Mark knew, lay entirely at his feet—a fact that Daniel, of all people, had made clear to him. Yet even in his jealousy, Mark wondered whether Daniel had unwittingly cast him a lifeline. Their conversation had laid bare to him the cracks in his relationship with Bridget, but cracks could be mended, if one only took care to try. 

With new resolve, then, Mark squared his shoulders and prepared to take on the day. He had only to attend a closing talk that morning, after which he intended to alter his travel plans and fly home a day early. This sudden surge of hope created the momentum that carried him through the morning, and after politely extricating himself from a lunch invitation with several colleagues, he returned directly to his hotel and began gathering his belongings as he dialed the airline. As he waited for the call to connect, a light knock sounded at his door. Ignoring the summons, Mark continued emptying drawers and methodically taking inventory of his possessions as he was guided through a litany of menu options that would, hopefully in his lifetime, connect him with a human. The knock sounded again, more insistently, and muttering a curse, Mark disconnected the call and moved to open the door. 

“My apologies,” he said automatically. “Can I help you?” 

“Well, I’m not so sure about that. I think it’s the other way round, actually, if you’re interested in room-service. Special delivery, all the way from London.” 

Mark blinked; the lack of sleep over the past several nights had clearly taken its toll, but no matter how hard he concentrated on clearing his vision, the image didn’t dissolve. Every night for the past week, he’d conjured dreams of her here; every night, he’d lain awake, rehearsing the words he longed to tell her. Now, suddenly, his cue had come, and he could only stare in speechless astonishment at the woman in front of him. 

Bridget hesitated, rocking on her toes like a diver contemplating an intimidating leap before taking a tentative step forward at the same moment Mark opened his arms to receive her. Sliding into his embrace, she rose on her toes and kissed him full on the mouth. For one blissful moment, Mark didn’t need to think; instinctively, he wound his arms around her, reaching to cradle the back of her neck as he tilted her head to deepen the kiss. Bridget responded by pressing herself between his legs, the momentum of her body propelling him backward several steps until he bumped against the edge of the bed onto which they tumbled together. 

“Hi,” she whispered, trailing a fingertip along his jaw. 

“Bridget,” he managed, “why are you here?” 

She lifted a brow. “Wow, thanks. Nice to see you too, you ungrateful bastard.” 

“No, I didn’t mean—oh god, I’m sorry. I just. . . didn’t expect to see you. How did you get here?” 

“It’s not a miracle, Mark. It’s air travel. I took a day off work, booked a flight, got on a plane, and here I am. It’s all quite simple, actually, if you get to departures in plenty of time and remember your passport.” 

“That last part is a miracle,” Mark commented, his characteristically dry humor returning now that the initial shock of Bridget’s appearance had worn off. 

Bridget rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t cheap, I can tell you. Don’t make he regret it.” 

“Sweetheart, you didn’t need to go to such trouble. I love that you did, of course, truly, but now I just feel terrible for not asking you to come with me in the first place, as I wanted to.” 

“You did? Really?” Bridget’s eyes shone with the delight of the confession, and Mark wanted to fold her in his arms and kiss her again. Instead, he lifted a hand to caress her cheek. 

“I did, yes.” 

“Then for fuck’s sake, why didn’t you? Then we could have been shagging every night in this glorious bed, in this glorious hotel room instead of missing each other’s phone calls all week.” 

“I know, darling.” Now Mark did pull her into his arms, kissing the crown of her head. “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t know. This wasn’t a holiday for me, and it seemed selfish to bring you along for company and then abandon you. Then I thought, we haven’t been going out for very long, and I wasn’t certain we—you—were ready for that, and I thought if I was going to take that step, I wanted to take you on a proper holiday and, well. . .” Before Mark could become even further ensnared in the tangle of his rambling confession, Bridget leaned in to kiss him. 

“That’s really sweet of you,” she said, “but you know, I wouldn’t have minded. It would have been enough just to be here with you.” At her words, Mark felt the prickle of threatening tears rising in his throat. 

“Well,” he whispered, laboring to suppress the tremor in his voice, “you’re here now.” 

“I am, and what do you intend to do about it, Mr Darcy?” 

“That depends. What would you like me to do about it, Miss Jones?” 

“Hmm.” Bridget tapped her chin, apparently deep in thought. “I do have something in mind,” she said finally, beginning to unfasten the buttons on his shirt, “but I’m afraid you’re a bit overdressed.” Before she could continue with her task, Mark caught her hands in his and raised them to his lips. 

“did you come all this way just for spectacular sex?” 

Bridget wiggled herself onto his lap and kissed him, sliding her tongue over his bottom lip. . “Is there a problem?” 

“not that I can think of, no.” 

“Can we just get on with it then?” Instead of answering, Mark pulled her roughly to his chest and locked his mouth on hers. 

* * *

Hours later, Mark lay in the dark with Bridget nestled in the crook of his arm, his chest tightening as he gazed down at her. Even as his body thrummed with the aftershocks of making love to her, even as he felt the warm weight of her asleep beside him, he still felt as if he were scrabbling for purchase as the ground fell away beneath him. One moment he was wondering how to extract himself from the rubble of what seemed a crumbling relationship, the next he found himself in the arms of the woman he’d prepared himself to let go. Spontaneously jumping on a plane and showing up at his hotel unannounced hardly seemed the sort of thing one would do in a relationship that was painfully inching its way toward death, and if not for his conversation with Daniel, Mark might have found the events of the last several hours less baffling. With a jolt, he sat up, the memory of that conversation plunking into his stomach like a brick. He glanced back at Bridget, cheek cradled in her palm, her dreams untroubled. Surely if she were involved with Daniel again, she wouldn’t be here now. Mark lowered his head into his hands and massaged his temples, the questions racing round and round his brain making him slightly dizzy. Suddenly he felt the brush of Bridget’s hand against the small of his back. 

“Mark?” 

With a deep, calming breath, he lifted his head. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” The next moment, he felt her slide her arms around him as she leaned in to trail her lips along the line of his jaw. 

“Well, now that I am, you could make it worth my while.” Mark had to summon every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep from turning in her arms and kissing her. To lose himself in her embrace would have been easy, yet never had what was easy and what was right felt so at odds. 

Sensing his apparent indifference to her advances, Bridget pulled back slightly, resting a hand on his arm. “Mark, what’s wrong?” He wanted to answer, but when he tried to speak, the words formed a painful lump in his throat. 

“Does this have to do with me turning up to surprise you? I almost didn’t go through with it. You’re not exactly Mr spontaneity; I mean, the underpants folding thing is just a bit too compulsive to be healthy, in my opinion, but you seemed so glad to see me, if the fact that I currently have no feeling below the waist is any indication. I’m really, really sorry if I interfered with anything, but if you didn’t want to see me, you should have just--” 

“Bridget,” Mark interrupted, fearing he might choke on the words if he didn’t get them out. “Are you seeing Daniel Cleaver again?” 

“What? Mark, are you serious? Why in the name of arsse would you even think that?” 

“Well,” he challenged, “you’re working together, aren’t you?” 

“Sort of—not really. I mean he—wait. How did you even know?” 

“I spoke to him.” 

“Shit,” whispered Bridget. “When?” 

“The other day. I tried to call you, but you’d stepped out, apparently, and left your mobile behind, and Daniel answered.” 

“Double shit.” She reached to pull Mark into her arms again, but he held out a hand to ward her off. 

“Just tell me the truth,” he said quietly. “I can bear that, whatever it is, but I can’t bear being kept in the dark.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, this is ridiculous! Look, Mark, you can't just wear Daniel's betrayal like a battle scar, expecting every second that someone's going to come along and rip open the wound. I know what it's like to be hurt by him, or have you forgotten?” The force of Bridget’s exclamation left Mark reeling, as if the words had dealt him a physical blow. “For a man who prides himself on being right all the time, you’re doing an impressive job being wrong. Daniel Cleaver humiliated me--made me feel like absolute shit, actually, but at the end of the day, I learned something from that experience. If you spend your life thinking everyone you try to love is going to hurt you, you're going to wind up dying alone and being eaten by an Alsatian. I don't know what Daniel led you to believe, so let’s set a few things straight. First, Daniel and I aren’t working together. He was brought on to host this travel show, and Richard Finch found out—or Daniel told him, more likely—that we used to work together, so Richard got it into his head that the ‘Smooth Guide’ could use a, well, smooth guide-ess, as he put it, and since Daniel and I already knew each other, he thought we’d make a brilliant team, except when does Richard Finch ever have a brilliant idea that makes me look good?” 

“And, um, what did you say?” asked Mark, already beginning to feel like he deserved whatever Bridget was prepared to throw at him and then some. 

“I said I wouldn’t work with Daniel if he were the last man on the planet, which didn’t go over very well.” 

“I’d imagine not,” Mark commented. “Daniel Cleaver hasn’t ever been particularly good at understanding the word no.” 

“Well, he’d best get used to it,” Bridget snapped, “unless he wants my foot shoved up his arsse. He’s been dropping round my office nearly every day since I turned down the offer, trying to convince me to change my mind. He must have dropped in the other day when you rang and thought he’d mess you around a bit.” 

“Lucky me,” Mark grumbled. Bridget rested a hand on his knee, and this time, he didn’t pull away. 

“come on, Mark. Why do you think I’d have gone to so much trouble to surprise you like this if I were sleeping with Daniel?” 

“I’ve been asking myself the same question, frankly,” he replied. 

“Well, I didn’t plan it, like I said, but the other night, when I was out with Jude and Shaz--” 

Mark groaned. “Of course. I ought to have suspected. This was another stealth attack strategized by the dating war command—something to do with rubber-bands and man-caves or some such nonsense. I was under the impression I was going out with you, Bridget, not an entire strident feminist brigade.” 

“For your information, this hasn’t got anything to do with Jude and Shaz—not directly, anyway. They were both going on about how it might be healthy for us to spend this week apart—you know, let the rubber-band stretch a bit.” 

“This seems like an appropriate moment to point out that rubber-bands tend to snap under pressure,” said Mark. 

“Well, yes, that’s sort of the point. The idea was to see how the relationship could hold up with some distance between us—see how far you’d let things stretch.” 

“I fail to follow, then. What are you doing here?” 

”The girls wanted me to swear I wouldn’t try to get in touch with you this week—no calls, no texts, nothing, and it was tempting. If a relationship is supposed to be between two people, you can’t just have one person doing all the work to keep it together, but then, well. . .” 

“Well?” Mark prompted gently. 

“I missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too,” he whispered. 

“And then,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “I just thought, this is ridiculous, because if you love someone, really love them, you shouldn’t have to follow all these complicated rules. You should just follow your heart and, um, so here I am, and that’s the truth.” Mark was grateful that the darkness prevented Bridget observing the tears that had sprung to his eyes at her words. In the silence, she linked her fingers through his and gently squeezed his hand. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered, but the words were there now, their warmth spreading through Mark’s chest as he brought her hand to his lips. 

“Bridget,” he began, “I’m sorry. It was idiotic of me to think what I did. I knew, rationally, that Daniel was just bating me, but even so, and after everything you’ve just told me, I couldn’t deny the truth in what he said to me.” 

“Which was?” 

“Well. . .” Mark hesitated, the weight of Daniel’s accusation heavy on his chest. 

“Mark, did you threaten him with bodily harm? Because the last time you tried that, it didn’t exactly end well.” 

“Um, very nearly,” he admitted, “but that’s not the point, particularly since Daniel wasn’t especially intimidated by my threat to defend your honor.” 

“No.” Bridget giggled. “I’ve seen the way you duel. I wouldn’t have been either.” . 

“In any case,” he continued, “Daniel’s response to my apparently non-intimidating threat to his life was to tell me I should spend less time worrying about how others treat you and more time worrying about how I treat you.” 

“Shit.” Mark felt Bridget’s hand tighten within his. “Who the fuck does he think he is?” 

“He wasn’t wrong,” said Mark, cupping her cheek in his hand. “He forced me to step back and reevaluate our relationship and, really, my role in it. I know I haven’t always been the most attentive boyfriend.” 

“Mark,” Bridget began, but he placed a finger over her lips. 

“Don’t make excuses for me. Heaven knows I’ve made plenty for myself, and there’s no excuse for committing to a relationship and then failing to give it everything you have.” 

“Oh.” Bridget pulled away from him, and he heard her deep, shuddering breath, as if she were laboring to suppress a flow of tears. “Mark, look, if you can’t do this—if you don’t want to do this--” 

“No, Bridget, listen to me. Please.” Gently, Mark took her face in his hands again. “I do, and I can, because despite everything, I think we both feel the same way about this relationship.” 

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quavering with unshed tears. 

“I mean,” said Mark, tracing his thumb along the curve of her cheek, “that I love you too.” For a moment, his words hung in the silence between them, until Bridget flung her arms around him and locked her mouth on his. The kiss flooded him with light and warmth, burning through the darkness that had threatened to engulf him just moments before. 

“I love you, Bridget Jones,” he whispered again, pulling her closer and burying his face in her hair. By way of answer, Bridget placed her hands against his chest, forcing him back onto the bed and straddling his waist. 

“You know,” she said, running her hands through the thatch of hair on his chest before leaning down to kiss him, “we might actually owe Daniel an accidental thank-you, although he might expect me to shag him in gratitude for rescuing our relationship.” 

“He’ll have to wait in line,” Mark growled, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her down beside him before rolling on top of her. 

“Hmm.” Bridget trailed her lips over the curve of his shoulder. “He might be willing to wait. He once told me I was the best shag he ever had.” 

“that’s fine,” Mark replied, nudging her thighs apart and lowering his head till his lips hovered inches above hers, “as long as he’s willing to wait forever.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading; comments and kudos are always appreciated! Feel free to follow me on Twitter @eggsbenni221.


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